Thanks
by ellamalfoy8
Summary: OneShot ‘He looks peaceful, she notes with a bitter frown. He was never peaceful, so it’s misleading. It angers her, an insult to his memory.’ Hermione remembers.


**A/N: Random moment of insanity. I wanted to write something dark and moody. This is what happened. Read with caution.**

**Summary:** _OneShot _'He looks peaceful, she notes with a bitter frown. He was never peaceful, so it's misleading. It angers her, an insult to his memory.'_ Hermione remembers._

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the following characters.**

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**Thanks**

She stands by the side of the casket, her fingers white as they desperately grip the wooden side. Ron has long since given up out of disgust, and is somewhere behind her chatting with Harry about the next ministry mission. Ginny didn't come. Not many people had, really, since this death doesn't matter much to anyone other than the press and her. She knows something they don't, after all. She had been there, heard it.

'_Draco, Happy Birthday.'_

He looks peaceful, she notes with a bitter frown. He was never peaceful, so it's misleading. It angers her, an insult to his memory. He should be smirking, or scowling disapprovingly. He never smiled in public, and she had only seen him smile once in his short life. Christmas, when he had found a gift under the tree that wasn't wrapped in his families trademark silver paper. She had given it to him, but without telling him it was from her. He had probably figured it out, but he had never confronted her.

'_Father, what- what on earth is she doing here?'_

It was a book, she remembers, one that she had picked up as a second thought in Hogsmeade. It had been resting on the floor, obviously having fallen off a shelf above, and she couldn't help but bend down and pick it up. She smiles as she sees the flowing blue title, Pureblooded Nazis. Her smile dies as she looks back down at him. He shouldn't be smiling.

'_She's your present, Draco. Do what you want to her!'_

She remembers the class too, where he had argued with the ironically muggle-hating Muggle Studies professor about the similarities between Nazis from the muggle World War II and pureblooded elitists. He had been stunned while watching the magically altered videos of the concentration camps during class, and had never been the same after that. She'd never spoken to him one on one about blood after that, but she knew he had changed. He never called her 'mudblood' again. But when she'd seen the book at the bookstore, she had to get it for him.

'_But- but why? I thought I was getting a new broom!'_

Although strangely different because of his smile, he still looks beautiful. He has always been beautiful, but now, with his hair gelled like it had been in his childhood, and his face not marred by a foul expression, he seems like an angel. But he is dressed in black, as always, and that ruins the effect. He was never an angel, and she knows that. But he was her hero, in an odd way. In a way that she hates.

'_Nonsense, that's just what I told your mother. If she found out she would be furious, but this is what all Malfoy men get when they come of age.'_

Narcissa is crying. She has never seen Narcissa up close, other than that one time in the top box at the quidditch cup, but she now understands that Narcissa hadn't been herself that night. She had been under an imperious curse most of her life, Harry had told her. Forced to marry Lucius because of blood obligations. Blood. It all comes back to blood, doesn't it? She hates it a little more each time she thinks about it. But it will never change, not really. She cries, but for other reasons than Narcissa.

'_This is insane, father, I don't want her! I've worked with this girl the whole year, I can't just- just abuse her! It's inhumane!'_

She pulls out a tissue, surprised by her own tears. They come slowly, pooling up in the corners of her eyes until they spill out in small drops down the side of her nose, then down her lips. She blinks, causing one to slip out and over her cheek. If she closes her eyes she can imagine it, the damp smell, the hard rock against her back. It's dark. Everything was dark. She couldn't see him, but she could hear him. Now she can't hear him. But she remembers.

'_If you can't torture one mudblood, Draco, how are you ever going to serve our lord? You've been coasting these past few months, but once you graduate, that won't be an option. When I come back, she better be dead.'_

She holds his hand, kneeling down on the cement to be at his level. It's cold, frail, and offers no comfort. This is her fault, she can't deny it. It always seems to be her fault these days, but this… this is harder to deal with. He smiles at her, unseeing. She wants to run. But not yet.

'_Father! You can't just expect me to kill her! She's- she's defenseless!'_

She stands back up, wiping her eyes as she stabilizes herself by holding onto the casket. It is easier to just pretend that that day had never happened, and that is what she has done so far. Harry and Ron don't know that she left the common room at all that night, have no idea why Draco Malfoy was killed by his father. They don't connect her terrified expression the next morning at breakfast to why he hadn't been back to school again. They just think Malfoy displeased his father over something completely unrelated to their little bubble of light magic. They will never figure it out, she rationalizes. They will never blame her.

'_Either you do it or I do, Draco. I must go check on your aunt and make sure she isn't killing house elves again, that bloody psycho.'_

Narcissa glares at her with watery eyes, and she can't take it any longer. Without a glance to her friends behind her, she takes one last look at him before breaking off into a run, away from the courtyard. She doesn't know where exactly it is that her feet are taking her, and she doesn't know the ministry building all that well, but she escapes back into it anyway. No one follows. Her shoes fall off in the atrium, but she doesn't notice, blindly diving between aurors and officials.

'_We both know I can't kill you, Granger. Here, take your wand and go. Turn left and go down the hallway, and turn right when you pass the sculpture of an Ashwinder. That should take you to the kitchens. Go across the hall and get out that door. It will open to a courtyard. There's a dirt path to the left. Follow it and stay low. It's on the opposite side of the manor from my parents, but there's always a chance someone could see you, including Bellatrix. At the end of the path there's an arch. Go through it and Apparate home. Don't look back.'_

'_But what about your father?'_

'_I'll handle him. I'll see you back at school. Hurry!'_

But, she reminds herself, it worked out for the best. Draco died, yes, but so did Lucius, didn't he? Narcissa got him. And she knows now. He wasn't a bad person. He never was.

When she returns to her room at school, she sees a book on her bed, a note on top of it. She sits down hesitantly beside it, though she softens when she sees the handwriting. It's his. And the book is the gift.

_Granger-_

_Thanks._

_D.M_

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**A/N: Yay, dark and moody. R&R people.**

**Final Word Count: 1283**


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